


Spoonfuls of Sugar

by chubbology



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Light Angst, M/M, Mild Smut, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Weight Gain, Weight Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:40:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25248577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chubbology/pseuds/chubbology
Summary: Bedridden, delirious, and plagued with inexplicable hunger pains, Ferdinand gains a concerning amount of weight while recovering from a dangerous spell attack. When he finally returns to his duties as Prime Minister, Ferdinand struggles to adapt to his transformed body.And his bottomless stomach.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 9
Kudos: 74





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> have some wg kink
> 
> bc this ship took me by the throat and hasn't let go
> 
> hopefully there aren't too many typos
> 
> enjoy

Only after midnight, when Ferdinand had finally fallen asleep, did Hubert approach his bed and brush a strand of bright hair out of his softened face. Ferdinand’s condition was steadily improving, but still too slowly for Hubert’s peace of mind. It had been months since Ferdinand was bedridden from a rare spell that could have been lethal. The longer he took to recover…

Hubert silently asked for forgiveness as he gently peeled back Ferdinand’s covers. His lips pressed into a thin line. Ferdinand’s bedclothes barely fit him, despite being relatively new. Full, rounded hips and a thick, protruding belly tugged hard at the pale fabric, forcing skin to peek through a couple of the straining lower buttons. The waistband of his pants had not a wrinkle or fold of looseness either, the drawstrings splayed on his wide upper thigh too short to properly tie.

Not so much due to the spell as due to the experimental treatment for the spell’s insidious damage was Ferdinand burdened with an astonishingly insatiable appetite. It didn’t matter how sedentary Ferdinand’s life had become in his quarters-turned-infirmary; Ferdinand’s stomach would growl fiercely and his mood would fall worryingly low unless he had something to feed himself every waking hour on the hour, and often during the night, too.

Hubert and Manuela, weak as they were to Ferdinand’s natural charms, especially in such times of vulnerable neediness, could not stop themselves from indulging Ferdinand’s endless unhealthy cravings. They best they felt they could do was make sure he got all the right nutrients from healthy foods in _addition_ to the pounds of carbs and sugar Ferdinand was consuming almost daily.

Ferdinand curled on his side in sleep, as if in response to the waft of cool air on his body. Hubert winced as Ferdinand stretched and squirmed enough for his shirt to ride up and his waistband to ride down, causing his thick belly to escape both in one great bulge, distending several inches onto the sheets, exposed. It reminded Hubert of the time he stole tubes of cake icing from the kitchen’s dessert stores to quell one of Ferdinand's hunger attacks. Ferdinand had made himself so full, sucking down all that sugary paste like a greedy baby, that his hips swelled out the sides of his old sleep shirt right before Hubert’s eyes. No amount of well-intentioned tugging on Hubert’s part could make Ferdinand decent again, and he had taken the rest of the day to procure Ferdinand larger clothes while Manuela supervised. She was far better at coping with the increasingly frequent sounds of seams creaking and thread snapping.

Tonight, Hubert’s eyes were drawn to the impressive depth Ferdinand’s belly button. The voluptuous puff of the surrounding flesh no doubt forced the effect. Most overt was the swell of belly beneath Ferdinand’s navel; what had once been flat, then chubby, was now a full, weighty roll.

Hubert’s face warmed, embarrassed for Ferdinand and at himself. Ferdinand didn’t even realize—he had not yet broken through the haze of healing magic enough to notice how rapidly his body was expanding, and while Hubert rued the day this would change, he feared Ferdinand’s deliriously pained looks and sounds of desperate hunger more.

He feared most a repeat of Ferdinand’s worst reaction to deprivation: a racing heart, fever. A fit of pure agony. Hubert would not let that happen again.

So Ferdinand kept growing obliviously heavier, fed all the sugar and carbs he wanted, plus more just in case. Grew heavier. Heavier still. He sunk into his mattress a little more everyday. Hubert was certain Ferdinand’s complete dearth of exercise was going to make his new physique that much more difficult to handle when he was mobile again.

 _He will become mobile again,_ Hubert told himself. But his imagination sadistically replied with an image of a Ferdinand twice as big, immediately shaking as he tried to support his weight while standing. Tried and failed, sitting down again, face flushed. Stomach growling.

Hubert took a deep breath. He and Manuela were at a crossroads; they did not want Ferdinand to suffer, but they could not go on feeding Ferdinand this way if his full recovery was not imminent. If it was, then a few more cakes and tubes of icing wouldn't make much of a difference. But the only thing that seemed imminent for Ferdinand was popping a button or three. Again. 

Even as he thought this, Ferdinand’s smooth brow tensed, and he let out a slight, breathy sound of discomfort. Then another. His stomach gave the telltale growl. Hubert stood and mechanically cast the covers out of the way, over Ferdinand’s shins, because Ferdinand tended to overheat when he ate. Pulling the bedside food cart closer and forgetting his intentions to do things differently, Hubert lifted a metallic food covering and picked out a decadent cherry pastry.

He sat on the mattress next to Ferdinand, who blearily opened his eyes. There was little to no awareness there, but Ferdinand nevertheless obliged Hubert’s coaxing into a sitting position. Hubert’s gaze shamefully lingered on how Ferdinand’s belly—still very much exposed—succumbed to gravity as he shifted back, then wobbled rather gelatin-like once settled in his lap.

When Ferdinand’s stomach gurgled louder, Hubert tore his eyes away and reached out, rubbing Ferdinand’s endearingly squishy arm with one hand and feeding him the pastry with the other. After the first couple bites, Ferdinand took the puffy crust into his puffier hands and finished the rest himself. His second chin, a permanent fixture now, bulged out generously with every shift of his jaw. There was little to be seen of a jawline. 

Hubert’s blood felt too warm in the veins of his hands, his chest, his neck. His ears burned. While Ferdinand’s face and body always looked bloated nowadays, and while he had undoubtedly been overweight for weeks, it was when Ferdinand ate—chewing and swallowing and opening his mouth for more, pudgy fingers tight around his food, belly quivering with shallow breaths—that he truly struck Hubert as fat. A fat person.

Ferdinand’s belly shook more noticeably when he let out a small burp, shirt riding up another inch. There were several long, thin stretch marks on his moonlit skin that Hubert refused to let himself count.

More eating and squirming and the shirt rose up another inch, only a few more away from bunching right under Ferdinand’s conspicuously fattened breasts.

Hubert knew better, yet kept the pastries and other sweets coming anyway as Ferdinand’s hands sleepily twitched for more. He kept Ferdinand’s hair tucked behind his ears. He stoked his flushed, cherubically chubby cheeks when a break to pant was in order. Ferdinand leaned into Hubert’s touch more often than not.

“Would you like to sleep now?” Hubert asked whenever Ferdinand slowed down. This question had worked before. It didn't this time. Instead of letting fatigue take over, Ferdinand just gave up the physical effort of feeding himself, leaving Hubert to do the work. “Ferdinand…” Hubert warned, even as he continued to deplete the food cart’s stock. “You’re going to get a stomachache.”

Ferdinand just made a sleepy, happy sound into another spoonful of pudding. When Hubert pulled the bowl away, his orange eyes flashed and snatched it back for himself, bringing the edge of the bowl to his lips and tipping his head back just enough to gulp. Hubert’s eyes widened; his spoon hand froze midair. _He’s becoming a glutton,_ he thought.

He stole the bowl back again, leaving Ferdinand to stare at him with a betrayed expression and chocolate pudding on his second chin.

Hubert flashed back to their academy days, to a moment that until now had been well buried by guilt and shame: _F_ _erdinand with some food stuck the corner of his mouth, emptying a second plate. Walking by, Hubert glimpsed this, Ferdinand taking bite after bite with too much zeal—and Hubert had been so angry from some earlier incident, so full of resentment and disgust just as Ferdinand was full of food he probably demanded was cooked a certain way—_

_Hubert muttered in low tone as he passed, “Careful, von Aegir. You’ll grow as fat as your father.”_

His shoulders tensed, wondering if Ferdinand would be upset about a heavier body for more reasons than one. It was undeniable, after all: Ferdinand had grown at least as overweight as his father had been.

Growing impatient, Ferdinand tried to shift in bed to reach the food cart himself. Hubert’s breath left him at the sight of Ferdinand struggling with the bulk of his body, sleepiness, and the weight of all the food he had eaten already.

Hubert stopped him with a gentle hand on his shoulder. “No. Time to sleep. You’ve—had enough.”

Ferdinand couldn't fight him effectively, too weak from healing magic and muscle degeneration, so he turned on his side reluctantly and curled against his pillow. Hubert felt his ears heat again as the movement inadvertently pulled down Ferdinand’s sleep pants and underwear, revealing the top of a wide, rotund ass.

Hubert covered him again with blankets and wished him a silent goodnight.


	2. Chapter 2

Hubert pretended not to notice the pink high on Ferdinand’s cheeks as he entered his colleague's office, just as he pretended not to have heard he rustling of something and the shut of a drawer when he knocked a moment ago. He pretended not to know perfectly well that in that hastily shut drawer was a stash of candies.

Ferdinand clasped and unclasped his hands on his desk. “Hello, Hubert. What brings you?”

His grin was genuine, if humble. If Ferdinand had not conquered his ego during the war, then he certainly had now. Such was the effect of gaining of eighty pounds while bedridden for so long…

…and a good thirty more pounds atop of that, upon returning to work. That was Hubert’s estimate anyway. Forty pounds might have been closer to the truth.

Ferdinand’s appetite had changed little after Manuela discharged him from treatment. She had been kind, according to Ferdinand, about how she worded her recommendations about a balanced diet and lots of walking. Hubert hadn’t yet found the right time to tell Ferdinand that walking from his office to the dining hall and back again didn't really count.

“I was wondering if you could use a break," Hubert said. "The weather is nice today.”

“Oh. Is it?”

Hubert grit his teeth against the awkwardness. “Would you like to join me for a walk in the gardens? I could use a break, myself.”

The awkwardness worsened with every second Ferdinand didn’t answer, but Hubert had come in knowing already that Ferdinand had no love right now for any activity that would reveal how much he was struggling.

“But I am rather tired today,” Hubert added. “I don’t think I will be out for long.”

Ferdinand was no idiot; the look in his eyes as he nodded was frustrated and reluctant, but grateful as well.

Hubert kept his pace deliberately slow and strolling, but they didn’t even reach the entryway into the courtyards before Ferdinand showed signs of exerting himself. Hubert pretended he didn’t notice and did most of the talking. When Ferdinand gave short responses—or longer ones that had a breathy quality near the end that made Hubert’s heart pound—Hubert did his best to keep his eyes on Ferdinand’s face or straight ahead. Not on Ferdinand’s attire, all newly tailored and worthy of a Prime Minister, and how it hugged his curves more snugly now than it had last week. Not on Ferdinand’s sheer girth when viewed from profile. Not on the way his belly inevitably sagged over the bowed-out buttons of his pants. Not on the distracting protrusion of Ferdinand’s breathtakingly full breasts. _Certainly_ not on how they were so full that they bounced ever so slightly with his belly when Ferdinand’s gait gained momentum.

 _His gait._ Hubert pushed all the thoughts he had about Ferdinand’s new, veritable waddle of a gait out of his mind as they appreciated and commented on the garden’s newest blooms.

A few minutes later, Hubert got caught up in his opinions about a number of former nobles clearly seeking to exploit Edelgard as a group and didn’t notice that Ferdinand’s brow was sweating and his breathing had become quite audible. When he did notice, he stopped in his tracks and accidentally zeroed in on the sheen of perspiration covering Ferdinand’s neck, which had developed a shallow fat roll of its own.

“We should sit,” Hubert blurted. He swallowed and headed toward the nearest tea table he knew to be isolated from the others. Ferdinand followed without a word. Hubert then made the grave mistake of gesturing Ferdinand to sit down first: when Ferdinand sat, his ass bulged obscenely, like a pluming cloud, overtaking all sides of the seat. While Ferdinand looked relieved to be sitting, Hubert’s nerves rose to a rare level. He sat down a little unsteadily himself, feeling powerless against the slow tightening of his pants.

Ferdinand held his forearms self-consciously on the table, but that just pushed his breasts together. Hubert started to ache as his arousal perpetuated itself by noticing everything about Ferdinand that could be even remotely considered erotic. Ferdinand looked down as if caught up in his own thoughts; his second chin pushed out proudly, ear-to-ear. Hubert’s pants strained so tight, he worried his erection would be visible to passerby. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so much anticipation and interest and base want. _Ridiculous,_ he chanted to himself.

He had not allowed himself to think too freely about Ferdinand’s intense and unrelenting weight gain while he was still bedridden. It wasn’t appropriate. Of course, sometimes it was impossible to keep flashes of Ferdinand’s erotically fattened hips out of his mind as he bathed or grew numb to a pile of paperwork, but he never acted on his arousal knowing Ferdinand was in pain.

Almost never, anyways.

But now Ferdinand was healthy, barring the state of his musculature. And his obesity. Once Ferdinand slowly gained his strength back by simply being on his feet, he would be able to begin some actual exercise, perhaps with weaponry, if he wanted to. A part of Hubert was slightly worried Ferdinand wouldn’t want to, instead keeping to his office and eating candies and who knew what else day in and day out, too afraid to embarrass himself on the training grounds. It wasn’t that Hubert disapproved of Ferdinand’s silence on the topic of weight loss—Ferdinand had been nearly silent on the topic of his weight gain, as well. Hubert didn’t at all believe Ferdinand should change his lifestyle simply because he “should” according to whomever; he just knew that Ferdinand wouldn’t be happy if he wasn’t fit enough to feel capable of doing the things he loved. Like walking in the gardens. Training.

“Riding,” Ferdinand said, breaking the silence Hubert had been at a loss to fill. “Have you done any lately? I miss it.”

“Not lately.” Hubert paused. “It won’t be long until you can ride again. But it’s unsafe for someone who is only a few months recovered from a near-death experience. From a spell no one knows much about, no less.”

“I’m grateful to you and Manuela. Linhardt, too. But you’re wrong.” Ferdinand’s tone was firmer now. “I should be fine to ride; I don't feel unwell. But I’m not fit to so much as sit in a saddle.” The last few words came out in a rush, and Ferdinand’s expression fell.

“Naturally. You haven’t been physically active in—”

“You know full well what I mean by ‘not fit,’ Hubert,” Ferdinand snapped.

Hubert surprised himself by scoffing. “We have no delicate ponies in our stables. Do you think so little of your own warhorses?”

“I have no wish to…” Ferdinand looked down again at his dimpled hands. “I have no wish to strain them. They haven’t carried fully armored grown men in years.”

 _And you may be heavier than even that,_ Hubert thought for both of them.

The more closely he looked at Ferdinand, the more sure he was that even his revised estimate of forty additional pounds was low. For one thing, Ferdinand’s face was no longer plump or chubby, but truly _fat_. His cheeks sagged slightly under their weight. His second chin was thicker than his first. His neck and shoulders were noticeably padded with fat now, too. His arms, which rested at sides so wide his elbow stuck out, packed his sleeves to their limit like the kitchen’s heartiest sausages, and Hubert could imagine all that arm fat sagged beautifully when unconstricted—

His groin pulsed painfully. “I understand. When do you wish to begin training? To build muscle again, I mean. If you wish to at all.”

They both inexplicably blushed at the abruptness of this question. “Um. Well,” Ferdinand stammered. “Of course I _wish_ to.”

 _But you wish to gorge yourself in your office more,_ Hubert thinks involuntarily. He bit his tongue to punish himself, before saying, “I suggest private lessons in the evening, when the grounds are cool and quiet. Progress will be more expedient without distraction and heat exhaustion.”

To Hubert’s great pleasure, Ferdinand’s eyes lit up somewhat, hopeful. “Yes, that’s quite rational.” They stared at each other for a moment. Then Ferdinand asked, “Would you like tea?”

Fifteen minutes and a more lively conversation later, Ferdinand was scooping a spoonful of sugar into his tea, relaying some news from Bernadetta’s latest letter. As he talked, he scooped another spoonful, and then a third, and then seemed to realize what he was doing and quickly dissolved the considerable mound at the bottom of his cup as he blushed the brightest pink Hubert had ever seen. When he took his first sip, though, he looked just the slightest bit disappointed.

Hubert took the initiative of scooping two more spoonfuls of sugar into Ferdinand’s cup when Ferdinand loosened his collar. “Don’t sacrifice your tastes just because I’m here.” Ferdinand ogled him as Hubert dissolved the additional sugar, clinked the wet spoon on the saucer and leaned back again, successfully willing his own embarrassment away. Not so successfully willing something else away. The opposite, it seemed, since he could feel a faint dampness now.

Ferdinand grinned sheepishly at him and took another sip. Hubert took notice of his forearms this time. They had become so porky, so thick and round near the elbow. So overly cushioned because of Ferdinand’s compulsive eating. All of Ferdinand was so cushioned, which Hubert found satisfying, in a way.

“It’s abominable, I know,” Ferdinand said. “I’ve turned traitor to my good taste.” He sighed and chuckled self-depreciatively. “Sugar. I’ve grown too accustomed to it. Sometimes I…want nothing else.”

 _You have indeed grown._ Hubert casually crossed his legs to feel like he had some semblance of control over his burning body and mind. _Even as gossips insisted you would get thinner, you were fattening out of your largest clothes._

Ferdinand’s clothes today, while simply stretching tight over his curves while upright, bunched and strained awkwardly whenever Ferdinand was sitting like this, accentuating his belly enough to make it look rather enormous and contouring the shape of his breasts so they looked less pert and more droopy. Hubert couldn’t see Ferdinand’s lower half well, but the table wasn’t so big as to block a glance at how the majority of Ferdinand’s thighs couldn’t fit on the seat.

_You've continued to grow, but by forty pounds? Fifty? You must never stop eating when you’re alone. Do you still keep a nightly habit of stuffing yourself in bed? Or has that habit evolved into stuffing yourself whenever you get the chance? I’m certain you’ve had no trouble finding servants more than happy to earn your approval by enabling you._

_Will you be able to stop?_

_Or are you going to stay inside and eat until you are bedridden again, by your own fault?_

“Hubert? Are you alright?”

Hubert didn’t notice how his eyes were half-lidded until he opened them normally again. “Yes. I did mention I was tired,” he said. “Apologies.”

Too late, he noticed the hope in Ferdinand’s eyes was gone. “None necessary. This has been nice. We must do it again and—”

“I do not wish to go, though. Do you have somewhere to be?”

“I believe so, yes,” Ferdinand said, the regret in his voice all a show. “I’ve forgotten. My memory must still have room for recovery. Until later, Hubert.”

Hubert knew better than to look at him as he left the courtyard.


	3. Chapter 3

Later that evening, Hubert knocked again. There was only silence before Ferdinand asked who was at the door. So Hubert answered, a bit confused. He was told to come in. Ferdinand, who sat hunched at his desk, only stared into space. His skin had a green pallor. No way could Hubert pretend not to notice the familiar food cart at his right, full of plates and crumbs and little else. Ferdinand’s candy drawer hung open and empty. There were a few shining wrappers messily littered on the floor, which perhaps shocked Hubert most of all.

At first, he didn’t say anything. He stepped inside the office with purpose, gathered the litter and did away with it. He closed Ferdinand’s desk drawer, then a second one beneath it, also empty. Ferdinand only breathed slow breaths as Hubert moved about him. Hubert did his level best not to fixate on how Ferdinand had to keep his chair scooted far back so his belly didn’t push against the desk edge.

Hubert rolled the cart to the door for quick retrieval later. Finally, he pulled up the chair for guests opposite Ferdinand and leaned over the desk. He took off one of his gloves, revealing the extensive, dark discoloration of his veins stretching from his fingertips to nearly his wrist. He offered out his palm. Ferdinand finally looked up with a semblance of an emotion, then gave him a despairing grin. He put his hand—once scarred and lean, now scarred and rounded at every joint and edge—into Hubert’s.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever known you to comfort someone before. Except, I assume, our Emperor.”

“She hasn’t needed comforting in a long time.”

“I would be jealous,” Ferdinand said, “if I weren’t so relieved that it meant you have time to comfort me.”

“From now on, you only need to ask. I will make time.”

Ferdinand grinned again but didn’t meet his eyes. Instead, they fell to their loosely touching hands. Hubert was too uncertain whether to properly hold Ferdinand’s or not. The warmth contented him, though.

“Never once in my life did I think I would look so ridiculous.”

Hubert blinked. He frowned. He made himself hold Ferdinand’s hand, and it felt even softer and plumper than he expected. “That’s not very kind. To yourself, and to many others.”

“It’s—”

“Neither kind nor correct,” he added firmly.

The spark of defiance in Ferdinand’s gaze was a good sign, in Hubert's opinion. “Why didn’t you just say _no_ to me? Manuela explained the truth of why I look the way I do, and I don’t really blame you, entirely. But—why?”

“Did she tell you that you would have heart palpitations?" Hubert asked pointedly. "Cry like you were in excruciating agony? Whenever we went too long without giving you want you clearly seemed to need?”

Ferdinand was quiet.

“There is no way of knowing, of course, but I have suspected that your body’s dramatic reaction to the treatment Linhardt devised was entirely necessary. The experimental magic we all implemented was strong, as strong as the spell that hit you. We had no idea if its strength would cancel out the strength of the spell or if it would hurt you further. But we didn't have a choice. I think your body did what was necessary to cope with its own taxing process of recovery.”

Ferdinand looked doubtful, but didn’t argue. “Then why didn’t it stop coping when the recovery was complete?”

“Maybe it’s not complete,” Hubert tried, but relented under Ferdinand’s glare. “I don’t know. But Linhardt might. Or a palace dietician.”

“The palace doesn’t have a dietician.”

“That can be changed. The body doesn’t like changes to its status quo, is my layman thinking. Your appetite served you well while you were incapacitated, so why should it change now?”

“I can think of many reasons. First and foremost, I can’t have any more coin spent on clothing. I…” His voice got even quieter, more confessional. “I ripped another seam last night because I sat down too quickly at a meeting.” He closed his eyes. “My damned thighs.”

Ferdinand pouted, but it wasn’t the annoying noble pout he’d had as a kid. Or maybe it was, and Hubert just couldn’t see it as anything but endearing anymore. Either way, Hubert was driven to take his hand away from Ferdinand’s to bring it to his face instead, just as he had done months ago, when Ferdinand was too delirious to remember. Hubert smoothed his fingers gently over full cheeks. Overwhelmingly full cheeks. Ferdinand’s handsome features looked pinched and crowded now by the chubby excess.

Hubert wiped away a tear.

“You know what frustrates me most?” Ferdinand asked without opening his eyes. “It’s not that everyone stares. It’s not that I’m too weak to heave myself place to place without sweating a storm. It’s not even that I feel more like my father’s son now, fat and ugly and incapable.”

“Don’t say—”

Ferdinand pulled away. “I’ll say what I want. Do you know what’s most frustrating of all? That—” He expression broke from angry to helpless. “I’m still hungry. I still want more. Nothing is ever enough, and the hunger distracts me day and night, and I feel like my body is broken somehow. I’m wasting so much food, making myself sick sometimes, doubly wasting it, and for _what?_ ”

He stood from his desk chair, struggling just a bit with his weight in a way that made Hubert’s mouth part, his heart pound hard like a heavy drum once, twice. As Ferdinand rubbed his temples and began to pace, Hubert realized that Ferdinand was more stuffed than usual from this recent binge. It was visible in the tight stretch of fabric all over his body. His bottom-heavy belly pressed forward so insistently, Hubert could see the indentation of his belly button. Ferdinand's hips flared so wide, slivers of skin had begun to escape his clothes. The seam keeping his pants together over his ass was straining so badly, Hubert could identify several individual threads that doubtlessly would be responsible for Ferdinand’s next clothing malfunction.

“What am I supposed to do, Hubert? How am I supposed to get anything done when I’m only making my ability to be productive worse by trying to sate my cravings to get things _done?_ ”

Hubert opened his mouth to speak, but Ferdinand spoke over him.

“I hate that I can’t so much as write a letter anymore without my mouth full of over-buttered bread or those little caramels.”

Hubert tried to speak again, except this time his mouth was too dry. Ferdinand kept pacing, picking up momentum as he passed from one side of the room to the other in that way that made his breasts and belly bounce a little, although the effect seemed mitigated now, likely due to bloating.

Hubert didn’t have the capacity to be disappointed by this, though. Not when Ferdinand looked as close to naked as he could get, fully dressed. Without his coat or cape, no curve or bulge on Ferdinand’s body was hidden. His ass was on full display, the crack indecently pronounced by the overworked seam. His thighs smoothly squeezed past each other with every step, causing slight jiggles Hubert hadn’t noticed before. Even his wide, bulbous flank was erotic in how it blatantly advertised that Ferdinand wasn’t heavy because he had gained the bulk and muscle of a highly capable man, but because he spent his days sitting and overeating and had developed a body severely laden with fat. 

_One hundred and twenty pure pounds of it since the accident last year, at least._

“And now I can’t stop thinking about food,” Ferdinand muttered to himself, sinking his face into his hands. “This is how it always goes.”

“You truly are hungry?”

Ferdinand turned to him as if he’d forgotten he wasn’t alone. “No! Well, yes. But I’m not…”

“Let me go fetch you something that may actually fill you up.” Hubert had a feeling there had been little of substance on the food cart. “Alright?”

Ferdinand admitted later that he did actually feel full after eating meat and potatoes. Hubert refrained from saying I told you so.

“I have a proposal,” he said instead after they both finished the proper dinner. “No more eating in the office. You hate when it’s messy, and I believe along with most everyone else with sense that business should be kept separate from pleasure.”

“Is that why you and Edelgard don’t know how to be properly fond of each other?”

Hubert stared at him. “I’m sorry,” Ferdinand said. “I don’t know why I said that. I think that’s a fine proposal.”

“Pleased to hear it. I must take my leave now.”

Ferdinand looked up as he stood. “I hope I haven’t offended you.”

Hubert allowed him a small grin. “Not at all, but you misunderstand. We are plenty fond of each other. Properly, I assure you. We just see little need to express that fondness outwardly.”

Ferdinand settled his chin in his hand. “If you say so.”

Hubert moved to the door, then hesitated. There was something he wanted to say, but felt he couldn’t. But he _wanted_ to—

“Ferdinand.” He stared down at the doorknob. “Forgive me for an audacious comment, but I think you must know. You…” He turned his head to Ferdinand, but couldn’t quite lift his gaze all the way. “You and your father could not be more different. Setting aside the political differences, I happen to know he was not born handsome, unlike you. But more importantly, while he aged unpleasantly inside and out, you did just the opposite. Always more handsome, every year. Then quite beautiful. That pattern has not changed, and I don’t expect it to in the future. If you don’t believe me, ask anyone. Ask them today.”

He opened the door to make a swift exit, but Ferdinand spoke.

“You think I’m beautiful, do you?” he asked as a joke. It wasn't convincing. 

Hubert expelled a silent breath. This time, he met Ferdinand’s eyes. He did not take the joke. “I have always thought so. Even when I couldn’t stand you, it was obvious to me."


	4. Chapter 4

All the delegates, including Hubert and Ferdinand, filed out of the room tense and agitated. Hubert and Ferdinand most of all, in fact. 

“What an ass,” Ferdinand muttered when they escaped far away from the mess of post-meeting discussion. Edelgard had given them both a commanding and rather disapproving _look_ to do so. 

“There was nothing you could have said to convince him,” Hubert said.

“I don’t believe that.” 

“You really should start believing that, as a politician.” 

“There has to be something. There always has to be _something_ , or else your measures have to be used, and then there are consequences, and then consequences to acting on those consequences, and three years later, we’re at war again.”

“Ferdinand. I know you love diplomacy because you’re adept at it, and you don’t want the supreme power of that adeptness to be put into question, but—”

Ferdinand suddenly shoved him to the right, into a small room that must have once been used for something, but was cleared out save for an old table and a dusty bookshelf in the back. Ferdinand held him against the door the moment it closed.

“I swear, the way you told him off, so _diplomatically,_ made me feel like I was in one of Bernie’s books. Like I was the smart, unflappable maiden who refuses to be impressed until she just can’t _help_ it—”

“Unflappable? Not today.” 

“Okay,” Ferdinand scoffed. He crowded himself closer into Hubert’s space, and Hubert sucked in a breath at the enveloping pressure of Ferdinand’s belly against him. “Then that’s you, and I must be the secretly powerful, humbly sexy man who—” 

“Forget I said anything.” 

Ferdinand just grinned and leaned in, and Hubert gave him a chaste kiss like it was a gift, one he hadn’t intended to give so soon but had no cause to hold back. Ferdinand received it only too happily, as he always did; and as always, Hubert felt a pang of regret for not providing Ferdinand this happiness so much sooner. He had intention of forgiving himself for being foolish enough to think Ferdinand ever wanted anything other than love and trust as someone’s equal. 

Thank the Goddess that Ferdinand had long accepted, back near the end of their war years, that he didn’t mind the idea of that loving, trusting someone being a man. Liked the idea, actually. “ _Became quite taken with it,”_ Ferdinand had said, the third time they spent a night together. Only to share a bed, of course.

_“Someone in particular?”_

_“Oh, ha ha.”_ Ferdinand had rolled his eyes. _“What a question. I was so stupidly in love with you.”_

Then and now, his long hair looked magnificent splayed over his shoulders—not yet bare, but would be soon. Ferdinand had declared, in that way he did, he would take back his confidence like a damsel held hostage. Which really made Hubert wonder if Ferdinand was harboring some burning desire to be gallantly saved.

Ferdinand took another kiss from him against the door. Slid his hand to reverently cradle back of Hubert’s neck and Hubert carefully did not smile. He most certainly harbored a secret fondness for Ferdinand’s unconscious tendency to make their attraction seem terribly dramatic. 

Maybe it was dramatic, considering their history. Hubert wasn’t opposed to this, and if that’s what Ferdinand liked, so be it. He took Ferdinand’s face in his hands and kissed him with a dramatic slow-building intensity that made them both weak in the knees. 

They quickly got out of hand. Ferdinand’s hair got tangled being tugged this way and that so Hubert could suck marks exactly where he pleased on Ferdinand’s jaw and neck. Hubert ended up with his chest, abdomen, and a shoulder exposed to the musty air, Ferdinand’s hands exploring as if trying to touch all of him at once. It was a boon, really, since Hubert felt himself beginning to overheat. Ferdinand, still fully dressed as usual, was starting sweat in earnest. But Hubert didn’t make any suggestions. He just touched where Ferdinand said it was okay to touch. He did a bit more than touch; he groped and squeezed at Ferdinand’s belly—not so big as it had been at Ferdinand’s peak weight, but still more than weighty enough for degenerates to call Ferdinand fat behind his back; he kneaded Ferdinand’s breasts in the clockwise fashion that made him whimper involuntarily and make a wet spot on his pants; he pulled Ferdinand flush against him by the ass—which had hardly gotten any smaller at all, much to Ferdinand’s distress and Hubert’s profound gratification. 

_“It’s mortifying! I look silly! I feel like no one takes me seriously.”_

_“Because they can’t stop thinking about how fat your ass is?”_

Hubert got hit for that. _“No, you jerk. That’s just you.”_

But for all Ferdinand’s annoyance about his proportions, he never complained when Hubert gave his backside extra attention.

“Need a break?” Hubert asked. 

Ferdinand was more flushed than usual from their proximity, the heat of summer, and likely his clothes, too, which were clearly tipping to the wrong side of Ferdinand’s wardrobe scale of fitting to splitting. _His weight is surging again,_ Hubert thought.

“Sorry,” Ferdinand panted. His chest heaved as he tried to laugh at himself. As he caught his breath, Hubert untangled his hair. Hubert harbored another fondness: he liked that Ferdinand’s stamina was poor. It endeared him, somehow. Even with improved musculature and training ability, Ferdinand couldn’t make out for more than an hour before he wanted a hearty meal and a full-night’s rest. Which wasn’t so bad, since it meant more time to hold Ferdinand’s soft body in bed. Hubert would figure out how to adapt.

“We should go somewhere cooler,” Hubert said. 

Ferdinand sighed. “No, we’re both too…” 

Hubert took stock of their obvious erections. He met Ferdinand’s eyes with mirth in his expression. “I can be quick.”

A minute later found Ferdinand’s hand and forehead pressed to the same door, Hubert pressed flush against his back. His other hand groped his own bellyfat as Hubert deftly rubbed and pumped him. For the first time, Ferdinand had undone the bottommost buttons, letting his belly slump out in Hubert’s presence. Hubert had not mentioned that he had seen such a sight before, more than once, but rather praised him and told him how he wished he had a better view of it than just over Ferdinand’s shoulder. Ferdinand had no words for him in return; he only had sounds of approval, moaned against the wood or at the floor. Although Hubert hadn’t lied when he said he could be quick, even as he said it he’d already decided to draw out Ferdinand’s pleasure as long as he could. 

When Ferdinand seemed close to release, Hubert let go and reached further into his pants to fondle his inner thighs instead, where the fat was softest and most malleable. He loved how this racked Ferdinand’s whole body with shivers. He loved even more how Ferdinand couldn’t help but squeeze his wide, trembling thighs together, trapping Hubert’s hand between them. He loved Ferdinand’s gasp as Hubert covered the hand Ferdinand had been touching and squeezing his drooping belly with, encouraging it to touch and squeeze firmer, more enthusiastically. He didn’t ask if Ferdinand maybe found his own fat a bit of a turn-on after all, since the answer had lately become more and more a resounding yes, but he did say, “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

Ferdinand shifted his chubby hand away to press Hubert’s blackened one firm against the widest part of his belly. Then more than firm—a demand. “Yes,” he breathed. 

Hubert groped his belly with less tenderness and more abandon than before. He groped as much as he could in his greedy palm and fingers, which was so much and yet barely a portion of the whole, only reinforcing his hunch that Ferdinand was putting on weight again. Growing again. The thought turned on Hubert so much he couldn’t stop himself from whispering, “Your clothes looked so tight today. I couldn’t stop looking at you.”

For the briefest moment, Ferdinand paused to register this, and Hubert feared the worst, but then Ferdinand resumed where Hubert left off, his own touch efficient and merciless. “They felt…tight.” 

Hubert let out a deep sigh, all arousal, and pressed his lips in Ferdinand’s hair. Adjusted his hands to hold Ferdinand’s belly in both, like it was a precious object. Ground his own erection more shamefully against Ferdinand’s ass, wishing with the taint of fierce _want_ that Ferdinand would take them off already. So his thighs were fat and had cellulite on the backs—Hubert didn’t care. So his ass was a huge, round wonder of nature—Hubert wouldn’t have it any other way. But he would begrudgingly respect Ferdinand’s boundaries and distract himself with—

“Been eating a bit too much again?” he murmured against soft hair.

Ferdinand made a desperate panting sound as his hand paused with exertion. “I can’t help it,” he whispered.

“Hmm. Wonder what changed.”

“Don’t stop.”

Hubert’s hands wandered up to cup Ferdinand’s breasts, relishing how they filled and conformed to his hands. Ferdinand sucked in a breath and resumed touching himself. “I think it was that trip you took to House Boramas. Did they treat you well there? A little too well?”

“A—a little…” 

“Mm hmm. I can tell your resolve has waned since then.” 

A heavy breath. Ferdinand pushed his ass against Hubert’s controlled hips, seeking more pressure as he neared completion. “You can tell?”

“Skipping training with excuse after excuse. Taking food into your office like old times. At least three dessert requests to the kitchen for extremely ambiguous occasions. You’re going to slide, Ferdinand, if you’re not careful.” Hubert leaned down to kiss a very red ear, “Right back into your biggest sizes.” 

He squeezed the breasts in his hands as Ferdinand came, feeling a bit like he were milking him with how much Ferdinand kept spurting, belly twitching all the while and ass clenched tight against Hubert’s erection. Even though Ferdinand wasn’t keen on his hips being gripped, Hubert thoughtlessly held one of them like the handle it was as he ground harder and harder against the most magnificently fat ass he’d ever seen, imagined doing this naked, felt too much saliva collect under his tongue, swallowed before he pulled away before his own hips started to buck. Hubert undid his pants and finished himself off, eyes closed as he vividly imagined falling into bed with a future Ferdinand who had gained back every last pound he lost, sunk in the mattress, poor at moving and reliant on Hubert to do most of the work, that happy bliss gracing his features. 

Hubert seized up. 

The full truth was revealed that night in Ferdinand’s spacious bed. They both lay at their sides, and Ferdinand had pulled up his sleep shirt just enough to expose one domed hip for Hubert to touch. _“After this afternoon…I think maybe I could get used to it after all.”_

“The baker there,” Ferdinand said. “He took an interest in me.”

Huberts eyebrows rose. Ferdinand buried his face in his pillow for a moment, groaning. Then he looked back at Hubert sheepishly. “He invited me into the kitchens pretty much everyday—which are gorgeous there, by the way. He kept drawing me into long conversations and…and kept complimenting me, and he…”

Hubert waited, grinning.

“He kept urging me to try a bunch of bread and dessert recipes he hadn’t perfected yet. Of course, they were already perfect.”

“By ‘try’ you mean…?”

“I mean I basically at it all while he talked at me.”

Hubert lifted his chin in understanding. “How much did he feed you?”

“Well. A lot,” Ferdinand equivocated.

“I take it he watched you with dumb awe all the while? And you just decided to go along with it?”

“Everything he made was so good, Hubert. You don’t understand. And he—well, clearly I attracted him, but he wasn’t some kind of lecher. I liked the attention!”

Hubert thought about this, holding his tongue against pointed questions about why _his_ attention wasn’t enough. He held no monopoly over Ferdinand, of course, let alone had a say in what Ferdinand liked and didn’t. 

But there was something to be gained here, Hubert could tell.

He scooted closer on the bed, until the peak of Ferdinand’s lower belly smooshed against Hubert’s abdomen. The buried muscle there twitched, and Ferdinand twisted his ankles together nervously, but he didn’t move away. Hubert let his hand slide around to Ferdinand’s back, and he absently surveyed its landscape: a chubby patch centered on his flank, long folds outlining two primary rolls of fat, thickly padded shoulder blades, the deep indent of spine. Hubert didn’t think Ferdinand would ever manage to become thin again, but if it happened, he had a feeling he would be unreasonably disappointed.

Ferdinand’s eyes had closed from his gentle touch, but Hubert spoke anyway. “You liked his attention while you ate?”

He felt Ferdinand stop breathing for a moment and grinned. He sat up and pushed Ferdinand onto his back, enjoying the mattress’s heavy wobble, and slid a hand over a hill of belly and a mound of breast, dragging his fingers until he reached Ferdinand’s ample second chin. He rubbed a thumb under it and Ferdinand failed to hide a shiver. “There’s no need for you to leave the palace,” Hubert said, “if you want someone to enjoy watching you indulge yourself.”

He touched his lips to the plump flesh. “Indulge too much.” He kissed. “On breads and candy and cakes. Or perhaps heavier foods.” Kissed again. “Fill yourself up twice over. Thrice. I’ll bring you whatever you like. Watch every minute.”

Hubert eyed him before lavishing more appreciation on his favorite fixture of Ferdinand’s obesity. Was he still obese? 

If he wasn’t anymore, he would be. Not so heavy as before, not so heavy he couldn’t ride again, but Hubert knew Ferdinand wouldn’t be losing weight anytime soon. He could hear it in Ferdinand’s deep inhales. He could see it in Ferdinand’s barely parted mouth, in the yearning upturn of his brow. Ferdinand’s fingers absently trailed up his thigh, his waistband, up until his path was blocked by the abrupt, fat swell of an engorged hip. Ferdinand cupped and gently squeezed that swell like he was discovering it for the first time, but Hubert knew he definitely wasn’t. He was reminded of Ferdinand that afternoon.

“Do you dream?” Hubert asked, letting his voice fall low. He kissed Ferdinand’s lower lip. “About getting bigger?”

Ferdinand nodded.

Hubert spoke slower. Patient. “Do you wake up worried? Or soiled?”

“Both. Always both.”

Ferdinand looked more wary than excited, despite his hardness. Hubert relented and lay back down, humming his understanding as he reached out and carded fingers into Ferdinand’s hair. 

They lay there like that for a while. At one point, Hubert was sure Ferdinand had fallen asleep, except when Ferdinand spoke, it was Hubert who had to come back to awareness. 

Ferdinand’s voice was very quiet. “It’s so easy to be overweight.”

Hubert tucked himself closer to Ferdinand’s side. He closed his eyes again.

“To keep being this way,” Ferdinand continued, sounding thoughtful. “I know there’s nothing wrong with it, but it still bothers me a little that it…snuck up on me without giving me a chance to even try to fight it off. Ambushed.” He sighed. “It certainly doesn’t make me skinner seeing your eyes go all hungry when I can’t fasten some button or buckle. My instincts are all thrown off. Half of them want me to go train all day so I can feel more acceptable to society as a whole while the other half wants nothing more than to get your attention.” 

“So your instincts have been thrown off your whole life?” 

Ferdinand laughed. “Goddess. You may be right. Has nothing changed?” 

Hubert smiled against him. “Nothing at all.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comment? ;)


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